Some Hetalia Drabbles
by DragonontheField
Summary: I put my iPod on shuffle and wrote a short fic on whichever character s  popped into my head.      There will be a lot of pairings in this.
1. America and Belarus

_I Should Have Known Better; The Beatles_

_America/Belarus_

"America, have you been hanging around Russia's little sister again?" Arthur's tone indicated his annoyance and worry as his eyes fell on the younger of the two. The Englishman tried to appear indifferent, but the effort was useless.

The other man just grinned, despite the four red, painful scratches that stood out on the slightly tanned skin of the side of his face. Natalya was cute, sure, but she really did pack a wicked punch.

And he loved it. He loved everything about the scornful, cold, beautiful Slavic.

And he'd be there when she changed her mind about him. Who knows? She might have already. The way she had clawed his face might as well had been a kiss, compared to the countless times he had tried to pull a knife on him.

Yes, it wouldn't be long before she would love him, too.


	2. Prussia

_Goodbye Cruel World; Pink Floyd_

_Prussia_

It was over.

It was all over, and now he would be gone. Thrown away from his former glory.

Inside, he was panicking. What was going to happen now? Was he going to die?

Anyone who looked closely could see the struggle in his maroon eyes, bright with fear and worry. But the old, self-satisfied smile couldn't be knocked off the man's face no matter what.

"Well, see ya guys. I'd love to stay, but someone as awesome as the great Prussia can't stick around for so long."

With a friendly wave, Gilbert Beilschmidt stood, glanced around at everyone he once thought himself so high above, and walked out of the World Meeting.

They would never see him again.

It was all over.


	3. America

_We Didn't Start the Fire; Billy Joel_

_America_

"You ignorant Americans, all you ever do is talk—"

"You're going to die from a heart attack, stop shoving that food in your mouth—"

"Your government is stupid, and so are your people—"

"Home of the free? Ha!"

Alfred Jones smiled, his eyes like windows to a glittering cloudless sky. He might not have heard the others at all.

He did, though. It was impossible to avoid—Arthur's ridicule, France's scorn, Canada's embarrassment.

It hadn't always been like this. When he had first joined the world, he had been so admired.

Need a job? Go visit America. Dissatisfied with your life? Move to America.

It got to a point where he was so influenced by everyone else that he considered all of the world to be his older brothers and sisters.

But then things started going wrong. Doubt spread through his mind and body like some sort of ugly disease, and before he knew it he started slipping. Maybe he was no longer physically weak and dependant on others, but now he was mentally dying; losing support, losing friends, losing confidence.

They would insult him, and he would brush the comments off.

Because some day, he believed he would make Arthur proud. He believed he would make Matthew look up to him. He believed he would make the others respect him. And he just knew that he would become strong and secure again.

He knew it.


	4. France and Seychelles

_Helter Skelter; Dana Fuchs_

_France/Seychelles_

''Bug the hell off, Francis!"

"Ah, but _ma rose_, it has been too long since I have last seen you," the blonde, handsome man cooed, a charming smile rising effortlessly to his face.

The response he received was different from what he had hoped. "Yeah, and last time you were a pervert too!" A deep blush rose to Michelle's dark face, and she tossed her head indignantly, sending her long, dark brown hair flying in the breeze for a moment before settling back on her shoulders.

Francis's smile was replaced with a look of fascination. If this girl was _normal_, she would have at least kissed him by now, overtaken with love. That's how it usually worked out, right?

But, not with Michelle, of course not. Seychelles was always so independent, it was a wonder that she was even talking to him at all.

"I've dreamt about those caramel brown eyes ever since we last met, my dear," he said, trying a different approach, "ever since they last looked at me so—"

He was silenced when she spun around, and he looked everywhere _but_ her eyes, unable to help himself.

"Go find someone else! Mr. England's told me all about how you sleaze around with everyone, it's a wonder why you don't die from some freaky disease!" With that, the girls caught some sand on her foot and kicked it up, making the older man cry out and cover his eyes. Then she turned and ran, the sun reflecting off her chocolate-brown hair.

"Well then, I suppose I'll be trying again tomorrow," the Frenchman sighed, blinking the sand out of his eyes and brushing it off his shirt and hair.

Coming back would be worth it. He had a thing for girls who weren't normal, anyway.


End file.
